


Birthday Weekend

by Caitybug



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Holiday, M/M, Monsterfucking, Older SnowBaz, Rough Sex, Sex, Smut, Tail Sex, Thrall - Freeform, bday weekend, look kris you do better at the smut tagging than I do but they fuck here alright, married snowbaz, somewhere haha, they're not in the fic but they exist, they've got kids too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29664981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitybug/pseuds/Caitybug
Summary: Simon and Baz rarely get time to themselves, what with having two little kids.But with Baz's birthday weekend approaching, they decided they needed the break.Cue a soft (and smutty) birthday weekend in a cabin away from the rest of the world.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 4
Kudos: 64





	Birthday Weekend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KrisRix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/gifts).



> For [Kris](http://tumblr.com/blog/krisrix) who I hope is completely surprised by this. (Muahahahaha.)
> 
> Thank you [Dem](http://tumblr.com/blog/otherworldsivelivedin) and [Sconey](http://tumblr.com/blog/scone-lover) for holding my hand through this to try to enhance the monster fuckery elements as much as possible. I love you both so so dearly <3

Simon

It’s not a long drive. Not in the scheme of things. (Not like we’ve had before.) But it’s long _enough_.

“Snow, we’ve been driving for _five minutes_ ,” Baz sneers. “Can’t you resist the temptation of snacks for a little longer?”

I’m twisted in the passenger seat, trying my hardest to reach a packet of crisps from the back. “What?” I ask. “I’m _starving_.”

Baz lets out a small _tch_ , but drops the subject.

I think I’ve burned all my breakfast off because of nerves.

I open the bag and offer Baz some. (He takes them.) (They’re salt and vinegar—his favourite.)

“How long before Fiona has the kids tearing holes in their trousers and talking about taking down _the man_?” I ask, tossing a crisp in my mouth.

He laughs. “Within the hour, I’m sure.”

The kids are with Fiona for the weekend. We joke, but she’s a big part of their lives. (She’s a large part of _Baz’s_ life—So it only makes sense.)

She acts like a shit, but she’s actually very kind and loving with them. When they found out that they’d be able to spend an _entire_ weekend with her, the littluns cheered.

It’ll be the first weekend without them in a while.

I pat Baz’s thigh, giving him a squeeze. “Happy birthday, darling.”

He rolls his eyes. “Not until Sunday.” 

“Close enough.” I shrug, shifting in my seat. I love watching Baz like this—he’s relaxing more and more the further we get from home. His grin starts to show more unabashedly and his shoulders relax against the seat. There’s some song playing softly on the radio and he keeps singing along.

It’s so fucking lovely.

 _Two hours_. Two hours in a car with Baz singing under his breath. Enough crisps to last me for _at least_ half that.

A cabin awaits us for the weekend. In the middle of nowhere, with a bath large enough to fit a rhino. (I think.) (I’m not quite sure how large rhinos are, but it seems like a safe assumption.)

Two hours until our weekend getaway (and birthday celebrations) begin. 

⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁

Baz

I wake up groggy from sleep with the evening sun softly pouring in through the windows of our bedroom. 

Snow and I arrived several hours ago. We had big plans—maybe hike, perhaps watch a film.

(Maybe even shag.)

Instead, in our post marital and post-child lives… we fell asleep.

(But _Crowley,_ was it worth it.)

A stray bit of light hits my eyes, causing me to squint. (Isn’t it time it got dark?) This cabin has so many _fucking_ windows _._ It’s actually obscene. I shift, moving to look at Simon. He’s the only thing keeping me from being more upset about it—the sun is hitting his face, curls a complete mess, face relaxed and lovely. 

We hardly get moments like these anymore—restful, quiet. It’s typically absolute chaos. If one of us needs a nap we simply take shifts. 

I kiss Simon’s forehead, causing him to stir. 

“Sorry, Love,” I whisper against his hairline. 

He lets out a large exhale. “‘S okay,” he murmurs, stretching his arms above his head.

The blanket falls down his chest, letting the sun illuminate his freckles. There’s a scar just below his collarbone from his younger days. When we were both stupid and reckless, fighting whatever came our way (or finding things _to_ fight, I should say.) 

He lifts himself up, resting on his elbows. His wings haven’t come back yet. I’m surprised they didn’t reappear during sleep. (Although I’m grateful—it would have been a rude awakening.)

Almost as if on cue, they sprout to life, nearly smacking me in the face.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, voice still thick with sleep. 

I reach up and let my hand softly trace the outline of a wing. They always feel different from what I expect. Surprisingly soft and supple. The wing shivers slightly when I touch it like this. I nearly worry that it’s too sensitive, but when I look at Simon he’s smiling, eyes closed and relaxed. 

“I feel like my body’s trying to catch up on all the sleep we’ve been missing for the past couple of years,” he says. I’m not sure why but we’re both quiet. I can’t tell if it’s out of habit— trying not to disturb sleeping children or let them hear us— or because this moment feels like it needs it. I lean forward and kiss his cheek. “I could still sleep for another twenty hours.”

I chuckle softly, moving my lips to his jaw. “We have the time if we need to.” He hums against me, wrapping an arm around my waist. “However, I’m sure there are other ways I could rejuvenate you,” I whisper against his throat. 

He grabs my waist tighter, and I brace myself. (Not to keep him from doing it, of course. I know what’s coming.) (Well, I guess we _both_ are about to come.)

(Merlin, his dad jokes are seeping into my thoughts.)

I lift my leg, letting Simon pull me into his lap. His face is determined, eyes looking me up and down, like he’s hungry (he might actually be) and I’m the closest meal in his vicinity. Like he might eat me. (I kind of hope he does.) 

The way his skin feels against mine, the way his eyes are filled with desire, reminds me why we took this trip in the first place.

(it was at least a fraction of the reason.)

(And the birthday holiday suddenly seems marginal in comparison to this.)

His hands move across my waist, pulling up the edges of my top. 

It shouldn’t be so simple, so _easy_ for him to get me going. Especially after all these years. (Aren’t sex lives supposed to die down eventually? Shouldn’t we be looking at ways to _spice it up_ by now?) 

I lift my arms, letting him pull it over my head, letting him bring us closer so we’re bare-chested against each other. (Snow never sleeps with a top on. It’s simultaneously baffling and completely wonderful.)

He kisses my neck and I let my eyes close, sinking into the sensation.

Typically we have to act faster than this, stealing moments in the bath, or late at night when the children are sleeping. There have been times when we’ve had a babysitter, or they’ve been with my family. Even then it’s only been for a night, or an evening.

We have all weekend now. We could drag this out all day and night, make an absolute show of it. I could leave Snow hard and wanting in this bed, tie him up and go make dinner. Come back any time he starts to get soft and rile him back up, drawing him closer and closer to the edge, but never letting him cross it. Make him plead for it, sob with want.

He nips my shoulder.

I relish in the fact that I could have him now, and still tease him through the evening. Bring this into tomorrow even. 

_That’s_ how much time we have. 

A very _have your cake and eat it too_ , situation.

I let my head drop to his shoulder as his hands rake across my back, finding their way to my arse. Our hips start to move, want against want. He takes a sharp breath, pulling my trousers and pants down to expose me. I want him to rip them off, I want to take _his_ off. I want to wrap my hand around him and—

Simon lifts me up and spins us around, me on my back, him above me—wings spread out wide, creating a red haze over us. 

He leans back and slips the remaining clothes off my body, fingertips grazing my skin. I think, for a moment, that I should be cold. That the air around us isn’t quite warm enough for me to feel comfortable. But Simon’s here, bracketing my hips with his knees, giving me warmth—giving me _life_. 

He kisses down my chest, my stomach, my hip. He kisses the inside of my thigh as he begins to stroke me, slow and soft. 

I watch him kiss my knee, softly bite the sensitive skin underneath before lifting my leg over his shoulder. His grip around me tightens. My head rolls back and my hips buck up into his grasp.

Crowley, it’s so _good._

He kisses down my thigh—and I open my eyes again. _Praying_ he’ll do what I need.

“ _Please_ ,” I breathe. I’m reminded of earlier, when I said I wanted to make _Simon_ beg.

(I’ll let him have his moment now—but he’ll get payback later.) (I’ll make him rue the day he made me wait for his mouth. For his tongue against me.)

He kisses the section where my thigh meets my hip, so close to where I want him. Where I _need_ him. I lift my hips, begging for him to take the hint.

Snow is oblivious at the best of times, but luckily he picks up on this one. He pauses, hungry eyes meeting mine. 

It’s a sight to see, every time he’s like this. Simon, on his knees, mouth above my cock, ready to suck me off. His hand wrapped around the base and his eyes hooded and dark. 

The only thing more pornographic—more _hot_ —is when he finally puts his mouth on me, letting me finally be enveloped by his warmth. 

Simon’s eyes are locked onto mine, and I try hard not to break contact. To watch every second. But then he does this thing with his tongue, and my head tilts back as I moan deeply. One of his hands moves back to my arse, squeezing it gently.

He continues his movements, taking me deeper, removing his hand to swallow more of me.

I want to say something— _anything_ — but the only words escaping my mouth are expletives. 

_“Fuck_ ,” I groan. I hear the sound of a bottle opening, and I nearly cry with relief.

I _need_ it. I want it so fucking bad I’m desperate.

I breathe in sharply when I feel pressure against me, opening me up slowly. When he pushes deeper into me, I instinctively reach down, gripping one of his hands.

He squeezes it once, twice—a check-in. I don’t have it in me to respond verbally, and he knows that. 

It’s so much. I squeeze him back once, hoping he gets the message. (It’s good, _so good_.)

It feels… _different_. More, somehow. More than when Simon is simply fingering me. The shape—the movement. (But I can’t figure out what else it might be.) 

He pulls out and I gasp.

I open my eyes, ready to tell him off, but pause when I see his eyes glinting in satisfaction at me. (He’s smirking, the absolute nightmare.) I look down to his hand, ready to grab it, when I realize what’s happening.

In his grasp is his tail, slicked with lube and inching closer to my arse. 

It wasn’t his fingers, it was his _tail_ inside me. 

(Well… alright then. Carry on, Simon.)

I watch as he pushes himself back in—finding myself unable to find the words I was about to say. 

Simon’s his mouth around my cock, one hand intertwined with mine, his tail pressing _impossibly deeper_ into me, and his other hand moving towards my bollocks, massaging me in a way that makes my eyes go blurry.

I don’t know what I thought his tail would feel like. I wish I could say I’d never _thought_ about it. (The tail being used… _sexually_.) (I’m not sure I actively ever suggested it, but I’ve never been opposed.) And I’m certainly not going to start objecting now, not as it moves against the spot that makes my brain stop working.

It’s softer than I thought—pliant. 

Snow takes his hand away from mine, and I whine. It’s not like I’ve no contact with him, especially _now;_ but his hand was a consolation, a comfort as I fell into bliss.

He shifts, lifting his arse in the air, letting me watch as his tail lashes against his hip. The small but taut muscles of it contract as he pushes inside of me. The tip brushes against my walls, breaking me apart slowly with each movement.

I want to see all the things Simon can manage with his tail. (Wrap it around my cock and jerk me off?) (Tie my hands behind my back and make me beg for his touch...)

But he hits a nerve that makes my breath catch and my eyes roll back. 

He reaches back for my hand, letting me grip it tightly as he continues, and I start to feel my body tighten in preparation. Something white hot builds inside me as I feel myself teetering towards the edge. 

“S-Simon,” I groan. “I—”

He hums in acknowledgement, letting my cock hit the back of his throat, readying himself for me. 

His tail strokes against my prostate, pushing me closer and closer until I buck my hips into Simon’s mouth and come down his throat.

I feel him swallow around me, gently rubbing his thumb back and forth against my hand. (It’s a small, soft gesture.) (He’s so impossibly _soft_ sometimes.)

When I’m spent, panting against the pillows, Simon peels himself off me, easing his tail from inside of me, and softly trails kisses up my stomach.

It takes me a moment to hear him whispering against my skin.

_“You’re perfect.”_

He kisses my chest. “ _I love you._ ”

My neck. “ _You’re amazing._ ”

I wrap my arms around him, letting him kiss me slowly. 

He pulls back, kissing my nose. “Dinner, darling?”

I feel too boneless to even imagine getting up. “After a mid-evening nap,” I mumble. He laughs quietly.

“You nap, I’ll cook.” I feel him heavy against my thigh as he lifts himself up and slides off the bed. 

“Wait,” I say weakly. “You’ve not gotten off.”

He leans down once more and kisses my cheek, moving to my ear to whisper. “Consider that your after-nap birthday present.”

Something in my chest expands at the thought of Simon cooking while hard with anticipation. 

I open my mouth to protest, but he interrupts me. “Don’t worry, I’ll still be hard for you when you’re ready.”

He straightens up and walks out of the room, letting the bright sunlight streaming through the windows highlight his arse as if he’s a god. (He may as well be.)

I let my eyes close for a moment, letting myself imagine Snow wanking himself while making dinner—keeping himself hard, but not letting himself come. Making himself wait for me.

 _Crowley_ , it’s enough to make even my slow vampire heart beat right out of its chest. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to check me out on [Tumblr](http://tumblr.com/blog/caitybuglove23).


End file.
